


A Pretty Silk Dress

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Margaery is a Good Friend, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: A friendly wager has emotional resonance as Brienne and Jaime get to know each other.





	A Pretty Silk Dress

**Author's Note:**

> _Setting: the time between when Brienne delivers Jaime to King’s Landing and Joffery’s wedding. (A few details from the books are spliced in, but we’re looking at the TV show continuity where Jaime was in King’s Landing before the wedding.)_

Brienne hadn’t truly thought she could lose the wager. She’d barely even meant to make it. Jaime was so depressed after losing his hand. He’d said it was all he was. He’d especially been upset after his long anticipated reunion with his sister. Cersei had presented him with a golden replacement because, he’d said, she was so repulsed by his stump. Brienne wished she didn’t know about the true nature of their relationship. If it had to be that way, however, she would have preferred Cersei be supportive of him now rather than treating him as if he was diminished in her eyes. He needed his family more than ever, to show him that he still had a lot he could give the world. He was becoming a better man; she’d seen it on the long journey to King’s Landing.

He’d been discouraged that he couldn’t fight well with his left hand, and he was too ashamed to let anyone see him train. Brienne had only been trying to convince him to spar with her. She’d promised they could do it where no one could see. (Gods, how she’d blushed when she heard how that sounded spoken aloud). It was the right thing to say, though, because he’d laughed and made a crude joke that she's been able to wrangle into an acceptance. He’d then immediately upped the ante, requiring a reward for the winner. 

The terms of the wager weren’t well spelled out beforehand – just a ‘you have to do something I ask’ sort of thing. Brienne would have just…asked him to train with her again the next day. Or maybe a seaside picnic. Nothing serious; not even anything to do with Sansa Stark. It was supposed to be fun. Well, it wasn’t fun anymore, but unless she wanted to go back on her word, she had to fulfill the bet.

How she’d lost was pretty clear. They’d been fighting with tourney swords, and she’d been taking it easy on him – but not too easy or he’d know. She’d pressed him just enough to get his competitive spirits flowing. She saw the flash in his emerald eyes, and it thrilled her down to her core. He was a brilliant fighter. He could come back from this. She charged at him, a full attack that was meant to challenge him to keep hold of his sword. He did. He also delivered a vicious blow to her midsection with the golden hand. It hit much harder than either of them anticipated. The wind was knocked out of her, and it took a frightening amount of time to be able to breathe in again. She’d had to yield, and thus ended the fun.

 

Two days later, he’d come to her room. “You’re attending tonight’s celebration, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded. The Lannister and Tyrell families were hosting parties nearly every night leading up to King Joffery’s wedding. It gave the early arriving guests something to do as the outliers trickled in. She knew she was expected to attend, though she hadn’t planned on staying long. Perhaps they’d get a chance to talk there. He’d been upset at himself after the accident, like it was his fault she’d let down her guard. 

“Good. Wear this. And you can’t leave until you’ve danced with at least five different men.” He handed her a wrapped package. “Remember our wager,” he’d unnecessarily reminded her.

Inside was a dress of Myrish silk, dyed in bright hues of azure and rose. There were crescent moons and starbursts embroidered all along the bodice and hem in vivid gold thread. It was a loud, attention-seeking garment, quite unlike its recipient. Brienne wished she’d gotten a better look at Jaime’s eyes when he’d handed it to her. It would help to know whether he was being cruel on purpose or not.

Brienne knew she’d be waiting all night if she had to depend on her appearance alone for dance partners. She had only a few acquaintances in the capitol. However, she’d served with Loras Tyrell in Renly’s kingsguard. If she told him of the time Renly saved her from humiliation with a dance, perhaps he would be willing to do the same. 

He’d turned her down flat at first, but she’d been prepared to plead. “Please, Ser Loras. It’s only one dance.”

He’d started to scoff at her again but was interrupted by his sister. “Of course he’ll dance with you, Lady Brienne. Won’t you Loras? It would honor Renly’s memory for two of his Rainbow Knights to dance together.”

Loras bowed his head before Margaery, muttering, “Of course. It will be my pleasure.”

Brienne bowed as well. Margaery Tyrell. She’d been so kind and understanding about everything. Maybe even this? But it would it be selfish to intrude on her time so soon before her wedding.

“Lady Brienne, what is the matter? So long as it’s nothing to do with the wedding. I would give just about anything to have something else to occupy my mind for a while.”

After telling her the sad tale, Brienne invited Margaery to her room to see the upsetting dress. In truth, Margaery found it rather fetching. She could imagine herself wearing it to a party, savoring the attention it would draw. She would invent a new style trend on the spot. Brienne wasn’t capable of acting like that, she understood. Brienne would rather hide her ungainly frame behind the curtains and leave as quickly as possible.

“Everyone will stare at me,” Brienne said miserably.

“Be honest, don't they anyway?” Most of the time Margaery wouldn't have been so direct, but sometimes facts had to be faced. “This way, they'll be thinking about the dress, not anything that's actually a part of you.”

“I still can't imagine myself in it.”

“Hmm. Well, try it on. If it doesn’t fit, you don’t have time to get it tailored.”

It fit perfectly, which was no easy feat considering how odd the measurements for her shoulders and bust were. Margaery found herself intrigued about how Jaime had gotten them so precisely correct. He couldn’t pick out a codpiece for Loras, she was sure. Yet for some reason he had paid a lot of attention to Brienne’s body.

“Brienne, I know it’s not your taste, but you look smashing. This will not be as hard as you think. Trust me, no one will refuse me a favor this close to my wedding. I’ll send the five handsomest men in the room your way.” 

“The five kindest, if it please you,” Brienne replied.

“Those are harder to find, but I’ll make every effort,” Margaery promised.

 

As soon as the music started, Loras was in front of her asking for the first dance. He was every ounce the gentleman, and a much better dancer than Brienne. After a few missed steps, he leaned in to whisper that she should imagine she had a sword in her hand. That helped quite a bit; she was always light on her feet in a fight.

Loras was seamlessly replaced by Oberyn Martell, a Prince of Dorne. When Margaery helps, she doesn’t go halfway, Brienne thought.

Prince Oberyn bore some resemblance to Renly, but older and more mysterious. Brienne felt clumsy in his presence. He kept the conversation light, talking about his daughters and how he knew they’d love to meet her. She couldn’t imagine what she’d have in common with Dornish princess, but said it would be her honor. 

At the song’s end, she felt a hand on her shoulder and thought it was another assist from Margaery. Instead it was Ellaria Sand, cutting in to dance with Oberyn. There was a moment when she thought she saw a wordless conversation take place concerning her between Oberyn and Ellaria, though it didn’t look like jealousy.

Breaking up the moment, Petyr Baelish put his arm around her waist and pulled her away. Brienne’s eyes sought out Margaery and were met with a shrug. This wasn’t one of hers. Littlefinger has learned of her travels with Catelyn Stark, and wanted to know everything about Lady Stark. How had she taken news of Ned’s death? Had she made plans for Sansa once she was retrieved from the capitol? The naked need in Baelish’s eyes was so unsettling, that even if she had not been sworn to keep her Lady’s secrets, she wouldn’t have told him anything.

Next came Paxter Redwyne, the Lord of the Arbor. He was a Tyrell bannerman and much older, but still an impressive courtly gentleman. He found she could speak knowledgeably of ships and naval strategy, and invited her to see the Shield Islands some day. This was almost enjoyable, Brienne had to admit. All thanks to Margaery and not Jaime, however.

Taena Merryweather asked for the next dance. Brienne wasn’t sure if she would count. Margaery clearly hadn’t sent her; she was talking to Jaime now. Taena was mainly interested in the dress, it turned out. She said it made her homesick for Myr. The colors everyone wore around here were so dull, didn’t Brienne agree? She actually thought Brienne was wearing this as a fashion statement! So perhaps Jaime deserved the slightest bit of credit.

 

Margaery had had enough of Jaime watching Brienne from the sidelines. It remained to be seen whether he was here to savor her humiliation or observing her with a different kind of interest. She insisted Jaime join her on the dance floor. 

“Whatever did Brienne do to you that you’d want to embarrass her like this?” Margaery growled into his ear. “She’s a good, decent person. She doesn’t deserve-“

“What are you talking about? I bought her a pretty dress. How is that a offense?”

“You knew she’d love it, I suppose. That she couldn’t wait to wear something guaranteed to turn every head in the room.”

“Cersei would!” 

“If you’re waiting for her to turn into Cersei, you’ll have a very long wait indeed. She’s not a lady.”

“She is! I’ve seen…evidence.”

“A woman. A warrior. Not a Lady. You can’t make her into one, and it hurts her that you tried. If you want to salvage anything out of this,” she said leaving vague what she could, “you’ll tell her you weren’t trying to target her insecurities.” Even though he had done so, with eerie precision.

 

Margaery shooed Jaime over to Brienne, crossing her fingers that the results would be conciliatory rather than explosive.

“My lady, may I have this dance?” Jaime asked, offering his golden hand which Brienne took with no hesitation. “I think you've met the wager. I'm your fifth?”

“Yes. May I leave now?” she asked. She taken the formality up a notch, he noticed. She was definitely upset with him. 

“That was the deal, if you want to. Do you want to? You seem to be enjoying yourself. Though I'll warn you against going to see Prince Oberyn's sketches if you value your virtue.” He spoke jauntily, trying to draw from her if not a smile, at least a softer expression.

“I might stay a bit longer. Will you tell me why though? Of all the things you could have asked, why this?” She swished the skirt of her dress back and forth. Okay, it was pretty. If he'd just wanted to embarrass her, he'd have replicated the hideous dress from Harrenhal. It didn't make any sense.

Nothing was going to crack that furrowed brow but honesty, apparently. “I was annoyed because you kept haranguing me about learning to fight again. As if it's nothing to learn a new skill in front of everyone. I thought I'd see how you liked it.”

“Well I … did.”

“I know!” Gods she was irritating. She'd never slumped her shoulders and barely even blushed the whole evening. “How?” he asked in honest bewilderment. She should have hated every minute of this. Attention. Talking to Lords. Courtly life. Dancing. How had she done it?

“I asked for help,” she said in her usual pointed and overly serious manner. So. Irritating.

They glared at each other for what felt like forever until Jaime gave way. “Sunrise tomorrow, same place. For as long as you're here.” (Which I pray to the Gods won't be much longer, he continued in his head, unsure if he meant it.) “Wear some armor this time you cocksure wench,” he grumbled.

When they parted, she was headed toward the Tyrell handmaids, so she wouldn't be getting away from those gossips anytime soon. Jaime noticed Oberyn Martell still sniffing around and moved to divert his attention. Why had he made her so damnably had to miss? (And why did he care?)


End file.
